Iracundus
by lycanus1
Summary: What I saw tore me apart. The two people I loved the most were fighting. Or rather, my brother was spoiling for a fight. *WARNING: Revamped repost. Rated for strong language*


**DISCLAIMER:** Regrettably, the Winchesters _still_ belong to Eric Kripke - I only get to mess with their minds once in a blue moon ... No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes: **i)Sequel to _"Forbidden;"_  
ii) _"iracundus"_ - (Latin) resentful;  
iii) Set during Sam's first year in Stanford Uni. in 2001-2002. Dean's 22 y.o., John 47 y.o.

**WARNING:** This is a revamped re-post that contains strong language, slash and incest.

_**XXXXXXXXX**_

**Iracundus**

**_Dean's pov__:_**

I ran back to the motel as if the hounds of hell were chasing me and my life depended on it. I had a bad feeling something was going to happen and I'd be left completely devastated, yet I'd no idea what it could be.

Rounding the corner, I was relieved to see a familiar, beaten-up truck parked next to my beloved Impala. Exactly where it had been before I'd left to get us some food. Despite what I'd just seen, I couldn't shake off the niggling feeling that something was wrong. As soon as I reached the door, I knew I'd been right to go with my gut instinct and I felt sick when I heard the furious shouting from within the room.

I knew my happiness would be short-lived. That I was on borrowed time. Yet for the first time in twenty two years, I'd dared to hope ... That just once, life wouldn't turn around and bite me on the ass. That I'd be allowed to find some sort of happiness. Some kind of bliss. For a while, I thought my prayers had been answered. That someone "upstairs" actually liked me and was listening to me.

Sammy was back. Well, when I say "back," I mean he was in between semesters and had decided to join us. Despite the initial awkwardness between him and Dad, which was only natural considering_ that _massive blow-up they'd had before Sam left for Stanford, things appeared to have settled and Dad was genuinely glad to see him.

For the first couple of days, everything seemed fine. Then Sam started sniping and having digs at the old man for no reason. To _his_ credit - and my amazement - Dad held his tongue. The effort he made not to retaliate and tear a strip off my brother, must've damn near killed him. But 'cause he loved me, he promised to toe the line and not rise to Sammy's baiting. And to be fair, despite all of my baby brother's shit-stirring, Dad kept his word.

Groaning, I rested my forehead against the door, took a few deep breaths to try and compose myself, then cautiously opened the portal to hell.

What I saw tore me apart. The two people I loved the most were fighting. Or rather, my brother was spoiling for a fight. He was right in Dad's face, shouting angrily at him, flushed with rage and - to my horror - full of hate, his long arms gesticulating wildly.

Pale, weary and extremely upset, Dad looked every inch of his forty seven years and I could tell he was struggling to hang on to his self-control. That he was fighting desperately against the overwhelming need to defend himself. He remained silent and was firmly biting his lip to prevent the torrent of angry, violent words that threatened to spew out of his mouth from doing so. To see him damn near knocking himself out, trying to keep his promise to me, was mind-blowing. The old man _never_ backed down _or_ walked away from a fight and here he was, doing just that. For _me ... 'C_ause he wanted me to be happy. 'Cause _he_ loved me. Loved me so much, that he was willing and prepared to endure and do anything for me ...

Dad slowly turned away from Sam and headed for the bathroom.

"What ? The great John Winchester's actually lost for words for once ? Got nothing to say for yourself ? Wow ! Never thought I'd live to see the day that _he'd_ be too scared to face up to anything. That deep down he was too yellow ... Too much of a coward !" Sam spat, his eyes full of malice. "You're a shit father, d'ya know that ? Totally fucking useless. Our childhood sucked because of you. It's _your_ fault that everything's so fucked up. That my life - Dean's life - is so shit ... I wish _you_ were dead. That _you'd_ died instead of Mom. Dean 'n' I would've been better off without you ... _We_ don't need you screwing up our lives and we don't want you ..."

Dad froze. His tall, lean frame full of tension. Then with a deceptive calm, he slowly entered the bathroom and silently locked the door.

"What the fuck's wrong with you, Sam ?" I growled. The way Sam was acting towards our father had me really pissed. My brother's behaviour was out of order. Coldly vicious. Hurtful and unreasonable. Not only was his attitude hurting the old man, but it was also causing me a great deal of pain. "You're acting like a goddamn brat. What the hell's been going on ?"

"'Bout time the old man got to hear a few home truths, Dean," Sam muttered angrily. "_You_ were never going to tell him, being a "good little soldier" 'n' all. He needed to hear it. He's fucked up our lives for far too long. _I _certainly don't need him around messing up my life and neither do you ... _We _can get by without him, bro. Think about it. How better off we'd be without his fucking rules ... Without _him_ tying us down. Think of the freedom we'd have ... You_ know _I'm right, Dean."

I felt a dull ache in my temples and in my fury, my fists were so tightly clenched that my knuckles had turned white. His sanctimonious bitching truly wound me up. Ok, so maybe he was right about the freedom part and that I was too much of a "good little soldier," but I was damned if I was going to let him know I agreed with him.

Yet when it came down to it, Sam was also dead wrong. I _couldn't_ get by without Dad. I needed him in my life. Him and his dumb rules, badass attitude, god-awful temper and mood swings. _I _couldn't and wouldn't live without him, 'cause I loved him more than life itself. He was no longer just my father, but also my lover and I craved and wanted him with a passion. Ever since I'd confessed my feelings to him ... that I adored him. Hungered for and desired him. Told him that he was my life and if I couldn't be with him then my existence was meaningless. Futile.

Initially, how I felt about him had him fucking terrified. Running shit scared. And that would've been hysterical, if I hadn't been so serious about him. He fought against it. Against me. Against what he came to realize was how he _truly_ felt about me. That he felt exactly the same way. In the end, the strength of our emotions and the deep attraction we'd felt for each other was too great to resist. He yielded and surrendered himself to me. Completely. Wholeheartedly. Despite all his fears and anxieties. Of how wrong and totally fucked up it all was. All that really mattered was that we were in love and desired each other. That we remained together.

And there was no way in hell, I'd let Sammy know how much I loved and enjoyed Dad "tying" me down. In every sense of the word ... My brother would seriously throw a fit if he ever found out.

"_You_ had no right, Sam. No right at all to do that to him," I hissed quietly. "He didn't deserve any of that crap. Ok, so he'll _never_ win any prizes for "father of the year" ... So fucking what ? He loves us and has done everything he possibly can to protect and care for both of us since Mom died and this is how you treat him ? How you repay him ? I can't believe you said that to him. That you wished _he'd_ died. D'ya know how much that hurt him ?"

Seeing Sam about to interrupt, I continued heatedly. "For once in your life, Sam, just shut the fuck up and listen. Ok ? Dad adored Mom. There's not a single day that passes when he doesn't think about her. How he'd have given anything to save her. Hell ! He'd have willingly sacrificed himself for her, if it meant she'd still be here with you and me ... So don't you fucking dare accuse him of not caring. And you'd no right to say I don't need him. I _wouldn't_ be better off without him. My life would suck if it wasn't for Dad - he keeps me sane and alive. And if I ever hear you say again that he should've died, so help me God, I'll kill you myself. D'ya hear me ?"

"But Dea- " Sam reached across to place a hand on my shoulder.

"No, Sam !" I shrugged off his hand and backed away from him. "If this is how you're going to be ... how you're going to act around Dad, then ... Then maybe it'd be better if you went back to Uni. To Stanford. I can't have the pair of you bitching and fighting all the time. It's tearing me apart and I can't take it anymore. I shouldn't have to. It's not fair to expect me to deal with it. "

Sam didn't say anything. Just gave me that kicked puppy look and walked out of the door.

_**XXXXX**_

Sinking down to sit on the nearest bed, I groaned deeply and shook my head in despair. It had been a long time coming. Years of bottling up how I'd felt, had finally got the better of me. I knew my words had really hurt Sam. Don't get me wrong, I care for my baby brother deeply, but when it comes to the love I feel for Dad - John - there's no contest. John will _always_ come first. In both my heart and mind. Whether he realizes it or not, I belong to him. Unreservedly. _He_ owns my heart, body and soul.

The soft click of the bathroom door opening cut into my thoughts. I looked up and saw him standing in the doorway. He had _that_ look on his face. His resolved look. I knew as my gaze travelled over his ruggedly handsome, beloved features that I wouldn't like what he about to say to me.

"John ?"

He slipped past me towards his bed, reached for his duffle bag and threw it on top of the comforter. Silently, he began to collect his clothes, shoving them haphazardly into the bag along with his journal, hunting knives and his Glock. As I watched him move about the room and studied the sleek play of his muscles beneath his flannel shirt and worn, snug-fitting jeans, I realized what he was planning to do and I didn't like it. Not one single bit.

I was at his side in an instant, my hand gently caressing his shoulder. His body heat emanated through the brown plaid shirt and made my palm tingle. He froze at my touch.

"Don't, Dean ... Don't make this harder for me - for us - than it already is. Please, baby ... I'm begging you. Let me do this, Dean. Let me go ..." his voice rasped hoarsely.

I continued to caress him, determined to use every dirty trick I knew to make him stay. To keep him by my side. I slipped both arms under his shirt, drawing him closer and rested my cheek against his shoulder, my hands stealthily finding their way under the flannel cloth to gently, yet possessively, stroke the firm, heated muscles of his taut abdomen. I felt him tremble with need and his large hand swiftly trapped mine. He groaned softly in despair.

"Please, John," I whispered, my voice now husky with unshed tears. "Please, love, don't go. Stay with me. You don't _have_ to do this ... I need you ... We both need each other. Stay, please. For me ? For us ?"

He slowly turned in my arms to face me. He appeared broken. Distraught. His beautiful, glistening, whisky-hued eyes were tormented. Anguished. Full of desire and love. Slowly, I raised my hand and rested it on his right cheek, revelling in the feel of the neatly trimmed beard brushing against my sensitive palm. John closed his eyes with a gentle sigh, savouring my touch. A single tear fell from his dark lashes and trickled down his face. I shifted and closed the gap between us and lightly brushed his lips with mine.

"Please. Stay. ... I. Need. You. ... Want. You. ... Love. You. John."

I kissed him tenderly. Lingeringly and longingly between each word that I uttered. Hope began to flicker within me, as he began to respond. Sweet, gentle kisses swiftly became intensely passionate. Needy. Full of hunger and desire. John's hot mouth claimed ownership over mine. Addictively seductive. I clung to him helplessly. Enjoying the feel of his tall, powerful, virile body embracing mine. Of warm, callused hands roaming freely and possessively over my body until they finally came to rest on my ass. Branding me as his. I loved his strength. His heat. And his overwhelming desire. His lips reluctantly left mine and leisurely left a fiery trail across my jawline, before pausing to hungrily nuzzle my throat. I moaned huskily in protest when those talented, tempting lips finally pulled away from my heated flesh.

"I'm sorry, Dean. But I have to do this. I know seeing Sam means the world to you and that the way we always fight is slowly killing you. That's why I'm gonna head on out. I don't want to, but I couldn't live with myself if I came between the two of you. I know how much you care for each other ... Let me do this. Be a father to you for once. Let me give you both some time together. This time next week, Sam will be at Stanford. It's just seven days, baby. Just one week ... I swear, I'll be back before you know it. Couldn't keep away from you now, Dean, if I tried ... Even if my life depended on it." He reached down and gave me a long, hard, lingering kiss. It was full of heat, intense passion, promise and need. "Remember what I said, Deano, it's just a week ..."

And before I could stop him, he'd grabbed both his duffle and jacket and opened the door. He paused briefly and gave me a sad, wistful smile. Then, he was gone.

I flung myself on the bed closest to the door and closed my eyes. No matter how hard I squeezed them tight, it didn't prevent my tears from silently falling. They were tears of sorrow, pain, anger and disbelief. I was angry with John for giving up so easily. For leaving me. I couldn't believe or accept how easily he'd done it, although deep down I knew he'd only walked so that I wouldn't have to suffer the continuous, vicious sniping between him and Sam. That, ultimately, he sought my happiness above his own.

But my anger towards John's selfless act paled into insignificance compared to the rage I felt towards Sam. I'd always loved and cared for my brother, but for the first time in eighteen years I felt bitterness towards him. I truly resented him for coming between me and John. Hated him for making John feel he had to leave in order to spare me any pain. I hated the thought of having to be without him. Of not seeing him. Not hearing John's deep, smoky, husky voice. And above all, the loss of physical contact with him. From the innocent, fleeting, accidental brushing of fingertips as we passed things to each other; the reassuring, comforting squeezes to the shoulder, to the clandestine caresses and stolen kisses we shared whenever the opportunity arose.

So, yeah, I know this is wrong ... this burning resentment I feel for Sam. I'm aware of how unreasonable I'm being. Of how irrational I'm acting. But I can't help it. John's only been gone five minutes and I'm missing him - terribly. The next seven days are going to be a fucking nightmare. Sheer hell ... Despite John's insistence that it's _only_ a week and his promise to come back to me, I can't help feeling that this is going to be the longest, most tortured week of my life ...

**Finis**

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